Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1887-11-18
MISS BECKY'S NONE.


Miss Becky was going to the cold La
dies Home" at last 1t was a sorry fact,
but there was nothing else for her to do it
seemed Who would think Of offering any
other home TO a poor, almost helpless old
woman who had outlived her usefulnessi
Having passed her days in other peoples
houses. so to speak, she might not mind it
as much, perhaps, as a more fortunate be
ing.
Eyes, she said, there's vacancy in the
old Ladies' Home and the hundred dol
lars that Parson Amory left me will pay
my way in, but it wouldn't last long if !
began to spend it, you know, and | shall
have a warm bed and my regular meals
without worrying about where the next
ones coming from. I'm most tired worry
ing about ways and means. Seems as
though had been about it all my life; ever
since father was taken with heart disease
hearing the class in algebra. Now that
the rheumatism has got the better of me,
so that | can't work in cold weather, and
the doctor says it'll draw my fingers up so
that | can't use them soon, it doesn't seem
as if there was any thing left for me in this
world but the homeland / ought to be
thankful for that.
Miss Becky had other expectations in her
heyday, when young Larry Rogers met her
and carried her basket: when his strong
arm padded her down the broad river to
church on Sunday mornings: when they
loitered homeward in the fragrant summer
dusk and hear the whip -poor-will complain
and started the frehies in the hedges A.
they brushed by 1t sometimes seemed to
Miss Becky as if all this had happened in
another planet. She was young then with
a bloom on her cheek but although the
rheumatism had bent her figure and rem
dered her more or less helpless at times,
yet her dark velvety eyes looked out like
soft stars and the ghost Of a dimple still
tickered on her cheek and chin in spite of
her 90 odd years Miss Becky's father had
been the district school teacher in those far
off days Of her girlhood He had taught
her the simple lore at his command. but it
was Larry Rogers who had taught her mu-
sic hour after hour in the empty school
house; they had practiced together while he
wrote the score on the blackboard. But
all this had not sufiiced to enable her to
earn a livelihood Her education, musical
and otherwise, had stopped short of any
commercial value. In those days she never
expected TO earn her living by the sweat of
her brow. Larry was going to give her
every thing. How trivial the little quarrel
seemed today, which circumvented this fine
resolve Of his, But what magnitude it had
assumed at the time, On his return from
trip to a neghboring city, some busybody
had whispered to Larry that Miss Becky
had been seen driving with Squire Eustiss
son Sam behind his trotters Sam was
Just home from college, a harum- scarum
/ fellow, they said, who made love right
and left and gambled bit; and when Larry
reproached her with it she had not denied:
she simply said: What then. If you choose
to listen TO gossip rather than wait till
| you
But you didn't tell me, and I've been
| home a week
Il had forgotten all about it till you re
minded me, said Becky.
Its such an every day affair for you to
drive with Sam Eustis which increduli-
| ty 50 stung Becky that she would not CON
descend to explain that she had carried
some needlework up to Squire Eustiss.
which she had been doing for his wife and
as she left to walk home Sam was Just
starting off with his smart chaise and new
dapple grays, and the Squire had said,
Take Miss Becky home, Sam, and show
| her their PAGES :" and how she had been
ashamed to refuse their kindness, although
| preferring TO walk a thousand times and
| how, once in the chaise, Sam had been the
very pink of courtesy, and begged her to
drive over with him to Parson Amorys.
three miles out of her way, that Lucy
Amory may see that you don't disdain my
company. For, you see, said sam, who
was not as black as he was painted, or as
many liked to suppose, Lucy can make
me what she will without her l shall be
nothing and nobody but they've told her
all kinds of wild things about me they've
] t,ll ba,. eh. ,ffrl,F in
to the river as marry such a scapegrace.
And perhaps, if l made her a little jealous
you know, there's no harm in that, is
there Ais fair in love and, perhaps, if
the old folks see me driving about with
Becky Thorne my stock may go up, and
NAV be saved from the burning as Par
son Amory says And Becky had con
sented. How could she refuse to do a ser
vice for such a true lover SO slight a
thing, too She had often traversed the
same road since on foot, ON her daily rounds
of toll or mercy. Sam Eustis had married
| Lucy Amory years ago, and was the fore
most man in the country today Strange
how that friendly drive had interfered with
Miss Becky's prospects how the simple
fact of carrying home Mrs. Eustiss needle
work should have determined her fate and
devoted her to life of hardship and the
]
fes Poor Miss Becky She remembered
that once or twice the opportunity had Of
fered when she might have made it up with
Larry but pride, or a sort of fine reserve,
had locked her lips-Larry ought TO know
that she was above silly flirtations Once,
when they met at Lucy Amory's wedding,
when they all went out into the orchard
while the bride planted a young tree and
| the guests looked for four-leaved clovers,
she had found herself-whether by accident
or design she could not tell-on the grass
beside Larry their fingers met over the
same lucky clover, their eyes met above it,,
and for an instant she had it on her tongue S
end to confess all about the drive and its
result, TO put pride in her pocket, but just
then Nell Amory called TO Larry
"Oh, a horrid spider ON my arm, Lar
ry! Kill him, quick-do Oh-oh-oh
l shall die shall faint !" And that was
the end of it.
The old orchard, with its fragrant ounce
bushes, its gnarled apple trees, its four
leaved clovers, was a thing of the past
cotton mill roared and thundered there all
dav long, where the birds built and the
trees blossomed 30 odd years ago. 1t no
longer blossomed except in Miss Becky S
memory She had turned her thoughts TO
raising plants when she was left TO her own
resources, but one cruel winters night
killed all her slips, and the capital was lack
ing by which she might renew her stock.
Since then she had gone out for daily sew
ing, had watched with the sick, had been
in demand for a temporary housekeeper
whenever tired matron wished an outing ;
but latterly her eyes no longer served her
for fine work, and sewing machines had
been introduced she was not so alert in
the sick room as of yore she moved more
slowly, and her housekeeping talent was no
longer in request added 10 this, the bank
where her little earnings had been growing,
one day failed and left her high and dry.
Some of her friends had Travelled to pas
lures new, some had married away, some
had ignored or forgotten her. As for Lar
ry Rogers, he had been away from Plym-
outh this many year Somebody had
sent him abroad the year after Lucy Amo-
ry's marriage TO develop his musical gen
ius. He had grown into a famous violin
list, playing all over the country TO crowd
ed houses, before the finest people in the
land 1t was beautiful romance 10 Miss
Becky 10 read in the Plymouth Record
about our gifted townsman - she seemed
10 hear the echo Of his violin when the
wind swept through the pine boughs she
did not blame him because she sat in the
shadow, because her life had been colorless.
She sang again the old tunes he had taught
her, and made a little sunshine in her heart.
All Of happiness she had ever known he